


A Fairly Normal Night in the Undead Existence of Jonathan Harker

by Atqueinstupracaballum



Series: Undead Husbands [1]
Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Because of Reasons, Blood Drinking, Canon Divergence, Fight me Stoker I dare you, Funerals, Jealousy, Jonathan is a vampire, M/M, Undead Husbands, oddly soft given that there's vampires involved, probably out of character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:35:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24921658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atqueinstupracaballum/pseuds/Atqueinstupracaballum
Summary: That was not his home. She was not his beloved.
Relationships: Dracula/Jonathan Harker
Series: Undead Husbands [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919641
Comments: 6
Kudos: 118





	A Fairly Normal Night in the Undead Existence of Jonathan Harker

**Author's Note:**

> This was written from a What If scenario that has snagged my attention for the last week now concerning Dracula.  
> What If Jonathan becomes a vampire during his stay with the Count? What if the two traveled to London for fresh blood and decided it was wise to blend into the British populace to avoid suspicion when victims start piling up? Subsequently what if Jonathan has to act as an informant to Dracula from within the vampire hunting gang? 
> 
> Thus, this was born.

Gloomy church bells tolled. Each chime pounded like the heavy beating hearts of the melancholic funeral-goers.   
_"So young!"_  
_"So beautiful!"_  
_"What a soul she had!"_  
Such were the murmurs that could be heard around the graveyard.  
Jonathan Harker gave his arm to his wife, his poor, grief-stricken wife. She took it gratefully and pressed a hand into his bicep warmly. For a woman, she was strong, but each time her eyes graced upon that mausoleum where Lucy was buried tears threatened her.   
Jonathan gave to her sorrows a tender smile.  
"Her soul is laid to rest now. She has found peace," he assured gently, leading her towards their friends.

In the night, hidden from the greedy eyes of society, Mina freely let fly her sorrows. Patiently Jonathan Harker sat by her. With devotion he stroked her silky hair, pressed warm kisses to her brow and cheeks, chasing those dastardly tears away as best he could. She leaned upon him, drawing strength from his presence until at last composure came to her once more. With tear slicked lashes and red eyes she looked up to Jonathan, warm, tender hand grazing his clean-shaven jaw. A smile flickered upon her lips before she closed the gap between them.  
"Give me but one smile Jonathon dear, that alone fortifies me."  
He gave in to the wish. She was not yet satisfied.  
"Your true smile, dear, you have such a beautiful smile when you show your teeth. Where has it gone, that gorgeous grin, of late?"  
He distracted her thoughts with a sickly saccharine kiss.

Jonathon listened keenly to Mina's breaths as they became shallow with slumber.

Silently, like a thief, he rose from their bed, dressed, and slipped from the building.

That was not his home. She was not his beloved.

The facade gave way to beautiful truth like shedding wet, weighty clothes. Fetters traded themselves for freedom with each step that carried him away from the Harker's dwelling and towards the Count's mansion.

In the day he was weak, a man with queer thirsts and wicked sharp fang, and good ears to perceive secrets and half ideas which would suit his Master to know. But now, in the night -oh sweet night!-, he was not a man, but something more. What life he found in being dead! His skin felt aflame with passions he dare not rein, hunger was his only restraint now, blood and his master his only need.

Despite claiming to know each and every thought of his Brides, the Count was, for a half moment, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of Jonathan. He had been lounging in his study, a crystal flute rich red blood accompanying him as he concluded business concerning his new estate and general survival as a Count in London. In essence, he had been -for once- minding his own business, when through the open window rocketed a small bat, one which had barely slowed from breakneck speeds before it transformed into his finest Bride.  
"Good evening..." greeted the count, watching as Jonathan scrambled onto his hands and knees. The fledgling did not seem to mind that he probably had third-degree rug burn across his undead knees and arms, nor that his landing had been anything but grateful. He turned to his master, face alight with an ear to ear, fang flashing grin.  
He was hungry. It glowed in his wild dark eyes. Ravenous, for blood across his tongue, down his throat, for the Counts touches, on him, within him.  
"I know, Jonathon, here, have some of this. Calm yourself." With a graceful motion, he picked up his crystal glass. In a flash Jonathan flung himself to perch on the Count's desk, close enough that their legs touched, but nothing more, unless Dracula willed it. He pressed the cold rim to his Brides lips, something akin to tenderness softening his features as the man drank heartily. "You have done well today." A sliver of blood escaped the young man's mouth and dribbled prettily down his pale chin. He took his lips from the cup to collect the lost blood with his finger and suck it off. "You have earned yourself a particularly fat house cat, how does that sound?" Jonathan gave a throaty sound of pleasure.

There was a short period of silence as Jonathan, now fed enough to do so, collected his wits.

"How is Lucy?" The question was asked with notably little concern. As though Jonathan was asking after the health of some distant relative out of obligation more than care.   
"She is adjusting to her new circumstance well. I allowed her to hunt by herself tonight, so you will not, in all likelihood, see her in your time here." responded the Count. "You remember how long your first hunt took."   
Jonathan leaned back in a rather indecent, relaxed fashion, elbows pressing against the table that supported him. By the older vampire's expression, it was easy to discern that the Count knew very well where this discussion was headed. It was not the happiest expression, truth be told. For once that did not stop Jonathan.   
"Do you love her?"  
"How many times will we have this conversation, exactly?" As he spoke, Dracula rose to his full height, glowering over Jonathan. A shiver traced the younger vampire's spine like a cold, hard finger. His Master's grasp on him was as effective as iron clamps as he pinned Jonathan down by his wrists. "You play a dangerous game with these jealous fits of yours. Naturally, I value my jackals. But do not mistake me, Jonathan Harker, and listen carefully to my words now. You are my most beloved Bride, my husband, the others are nothing in comparison to you...Even if you insist on being so intolerably brattish at times."  
"...I think we shall continue to have this conversation until I grow tired of hearing you call me your husband." A smile, innocent in form, mischieve tucked behind it, warmed his expression as he looked up dotingly into his Master's eyes. He had gotten what he wanted. Dracula sighed with tiredness that could only come from affection.  
"So, then, for the rest of eternity?"  
"Perhaps," and Jonathan laughed. The Count, cold as he may seem, was still a creature capable of feeling, of love, and so joined in after a pause and after a shake of his head.


End file.
